The Last Sunset
by Sennalyn
Summary: Chet Kelly recalls a difficult rescue attempt. Complete.


**The Last Sunset **

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_**Disclaimer: Emergency!**_ and its characters are owned by Mark VII Productions and Universal, I think. I'm not really sure who owns all that. All I know is I don't own any of it, nor would I want to. No infringement on any copyrights or trademarks is intended in any way, shape, or form. All medical errors are mine. This is just a story, and is meant for fun, nothing else. Enjoy!

_**"The Rock Show" ©**_ 2001 Sony Music Entertainment, Inc., written and performed by Blink-182.  
_**"Drops of Jupiter" ©**_ 2001 MCA Records, written and performed by Train.

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**Author's Note:** Well, I took a few liberties, as usual. I'm using some modern stuff like cell phones and some current songs, car seats, stuff like that, but the guys have not been aged to fit the time. I don't know how you want to think of it - maybe like a time warp thing or something. No, that's too weird. Never mind. Hopefully, you can just accept that they're all here with cell phones and faxes, or those things were just available in their time. Also, all medical and technical errors are mine. I don't know nothin' about nothin' and I don't have the time or inclination to find out; I just write what's in my twisted mind! Cheers!

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"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been . . . um . . . it's been . . . ummmmm . . ." 

I pause as my mind goes blank: How long _has_ it been since my last confession? Honestly, I can't remember now, but it's been a long time, I'm sure. I don't know why I stopped going. Guess I just got too busy. Guess I thought I had better things to do with my time than come to Confession. Or to Church at all, for that matter. I realize the priest is waiting, so I pick a number a go with it.

"It's, ah, been five years since my last confession," I finish, and wait for the admonishment to come.

"You've been away a long time, my son," is the answer I get instead. "Welcome back."

Although the screen disguises the identity of the priest, I recognize the voice: Father O'Malley, my family's priest. Jeeze! Hasn't he retired yet? He was an old man when I was still an alter boy! Guess not, though, because here he is on the other side of the small screen from me, waiting to hear my confession.

Thing is, I'm not really here to confess. I just needed to talk to someone. I don't need, or want, forgiveness or absolution. I just want someone to listen. Oh, sure, I could've talked to any one of the guys about this - they'd have listened, and nodded their heads in understanding, and offered up some sympathy, or encouragement, but I didn't want to talk to them about it. I have to _work_ with those guys! The last thing I need is for any one of them to think I'm weak in any way. Especially Gage. He'd ride me for _weeks_!

I didn't want to talk to any doctors, either. That's just too creepy! I don't need someone messing around inside my head, asking me about my relationship with my father (which, by the way, is fine, thank you very much!), and did I ever have sexual feelings towards my mother (which, by the way, I didn't!). I just need to tell somebody about this MVA. About Annie. Someone who won't judge me, or pity me, or laugh at me.

So, I came to church.

"Do you have any confessions to make, my son?" Father O'Malley prompts.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so, Father," I say quietly, then take a breath and begin listing as many sins as I can recall from the past five years: "I've taken the Lord's name in vain more times than I can count . . . I yelled at my mom a couple times and made her cry, and . . ." I rattle off a bunch of sinful things I've done, and with every one my guilt grows. I didn't realize how many bad things I've done recently, and I really do feel like a horse's ass. When I finish my list, I sit there, miserably, awaiting my penance.

"Was there anything else, my son?"

The question surprises me. What else could there be? Sure, I suppose there are some sins I've forgotten to mention, but I can't be expected to remember every crappy thing I've done in the past five years, now can I?

"I . . .uh . . . umm . . ."

_. . . fumble for words that won't come . . ._

"You came here for more than confession, did you not, my son?"

How does he _know_ that?

"Your voice is laden with sadness, my son. Tell me what it is that troubles you, and relieve your burden."

How does he _do_ that? Know what I'm thinking, feeling? I shudder a little, thinking the priest is reading my mind. _Yes, there is something else. Something else I came to talk about. _

"There was this MVA . . . a motor vehicle accident . . . and there was this girl . . . and she . . . and I . . ." I stop when I realize I'm babbling, and take in a deep breath. Father O'Malley makes no comment, but waits patiently.

"I don't know how the accident happened," I begin again, "but, it was bad, Father. Real bad."

I stop again, and try to swallow, but my mouth and throat have suddenly gone dry, and I end up coughing instead. The rustling of his generous robes tells me Father O'Malley has shifted on his hard bench.

"In your line of work, you see many bad things, don't you, Chester, my son?" The gig's up: He's recognized me. How, I'll never know. Maybe he recognized my voice, despite the fact that I haven't been around here for several years. Maybe he recognized my litany of sins, particularly the ones concerning the Phantom:

_Forgive me, Father, but I cannot help but torment one of my co-workers by short-sheeting his bed and pelting him with homemade water bombs . . ._

I'm sure he remembers me making similar confessions when I was a kid. Regardless of how he did it, he recognizes that the man in the confessional today is Chester B. Kelly. Sinner. Phantom. Fireman.

I heave a great sigh that feels so good; I wish I'd done it sooner. "Yes, Father. I do."

"Hmm." He makes no actual comment, but his tone encourages me to continue.

"When we arrived on the scene, we couldn't see much," I begin, and am suddenly transported back to that day.

* * *

"Holy crap! Look at that mess!" I exclaim as Mike Stoker pulls the engine up to the scene of a traffic accident along the scenic part of the freeway overlooking the Pacific ocean. The two southbound lanes are whittled down to one as several cars and trucks are scattered about one of the lanes, and a large tanker truck is piled up against a large rock - more like a boulder, really - sticking out of the ground in the rugged median. Beyond it, the Pacific ocean is darkening in the late afternoon, the sun beginning it's slow decent into the sea. 

Marco crosses himself and says something in Spanish, then we both jump from our places on the engine and head towards the scene.

"Marco, get a reel line down there and hose off the gas," Captain Stanley yells, then turns to me, "Chet, cut the battery cables, would you, pal?"

"You bet, Cap," Marco says.

"Right, Cap, " I say.

There's music coming from at least one of the stopped vehicles, and an engine is still running somewhere. If the occupants are unable to shut the car off themselves, or the damage to the car is not enough to kill the engine, cutting the battery cable is the next best way to quiet things down, and prevent any sparks from igniting a fire.

Cutters in hand, I head off towards the vehicles. The large tanker truck is twisted and smashed into the rock, two other small sedans are accordion-crumpled up along side it, while another smaller pick-up carrying a few pieces of rebar sits with both ends smashed in several yards away. I reach the pick-up first, rip the hood up and snip the battery cables. It wasn't running to begin with, but you can't be too careful.

I peek in the cab, and can see the driver. His head is bleeding from a large gash across his forehead, but he's moaning and moving around some, so I think he'll be okay. I take off my glove, reach in to find a pulse. Steady, but a bit fast. His respirations are a bit quick, too.

"Hang in there, pal. Help's on the way," I tell him, and turn, looking around for one of our paramedics.

"Hey, Roy," I yell as I spy Roy De Soto, and head towards him. "Guy in here's bleeding pretty bad from a cut on his head. His pulse and respirations are a bit fast, but regular, and he's starting to come 'round!"

"Okay, thanks, Chet," Roy says as he rushes past me carrying the biophone and drug box.

The other paramedic, John Gage, is standing by Cap, trying to figure out the best way to get into the cab of the tanker truck, and rescue the driver. Whatever the tanker was carrying is spilling out from a large gash in the side of the tank. I can smell something. Not too unpleasant, but something that could still be dangerous. I can see Marco working on the spill along with a couple guys from 110s who've just shown up. I can still hear rock music blasting from somewhere.

_'She's the one, she'll always be there! She took my hand and I made it, I swear!'_

I get over to the first of the two sedans just as one of the occupants makes his way out. His head's bleeding, too, but not as bad as the pick-up driver's, and he seems a little unsteady on his feet. Still, he is walking around and talking to Vince Howard, a police officer, so that's a good thing. There's a lady in the other car, who's holding her left wrist, her face screwed up with pain, while her baby who's strapped in his car seat in the back screams bloody murder. I make quick work of the battery cables on both cars, but the music is still pounding away.

_'I fell in love with the girl at the rock show! She said "what?" and I told her that I didn't know . . .'_

I get quick vital signs of the three people in the two cars, and head back to Roy with the numbers, before returning to the final vehicle in this pile-up: the tanker truck.

_'She's so cool, gonna sneak in through her window . . .'_

The truck is sort-of standing on its back right wheels, leaning against the rock. The cab of the truck is twisted at a bizarre angle up towards the top of the rock, and the roof is against the rock. While Johnny and Cap discuss one of a dozen possible ways to stabilize the tanker truck, and get up there and rescue the driver, I head around to the other side, where the ground starts to slope down. The music's louder over here, and I wonder why.

_'Everything's better when she's around. Can't wait till her parents go out of town. I fell in love with the girl at the rock show!'_

When I get around to the other side, I see it. The source of the running engine and the rock music: a red car was sandwiched between the back end of the tanker truck and the side of the rock, facing north even though it was in the southbound lane. Literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. I don't even have to try not to laugh at the lame joke.

_'No way anyone's still alive in **that**!'_ I think to myself. Still, I had to check.

"Cap! Johnny! Over here! There's another car!"

I don't wait to see if they're coming or not, but head over to the car, a nice, new Honda - or, at least it _was_. The whole back end is smashed underneath the tanker, and the front end is crunched some, but still mostly intact. Part of the front end is jutting out past the rock, so it takes a little maneuvering to get the hood open, and cut the battery cables, but I manage it.

The music and the engine stop, the sudden silence almost deafening.

"Thank you!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the voice. It wasn't mine or Cap's or Gage's. It was a woman's voice, and it seemed to be coming from _under_ the tanker truck. Coming from the little red car.

"Whoa, John, I think someone's alive in there!" I say, realizing how stupid it sounds even as the words fall out of my mouth.

"Yeah," Gage says simply, his professionalism too intact for him to make a snide comment to me. I'm sure if he remembers, he'll make one later.

I try to peek in the front windshield, but it's cracked, spider webbed, with a couple large holes in it, and I can't see inside too clearly.

"Hey!" I yell towards the car. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," comes a small, uncertain female voice, "I hear you."

"Okay," I say, trying to sound reassuring, "Just hang on, we're gonna get you out of there."

"I don't know if you can," she said.

"Of course we can, don't worry about it," Gage says from just behind my right shoulder.

"I'm stuck."

"How are you stuck exactly?" Gage asks.

"I'm . . .there're . . . metal poles . . . sticking out of me."

I turn to look at Gage, who looks at me confused. Suddenly I remember: the small pick-up was carrying a load of rebar, the metal rods used when laying cement. I relay the information to Gage, who's expression darkens.

"What part of your body are the rods sticking out of?" he asks.

"M . . . my stomach, or abdomen, I guess it is, really, on the right side, my right shoulder, and . . .mmm . . . my chest."

Gage swallows. "What part of your chest?"

"The middle," she says, and whimpers a bit.

Damn. My heart really goes out to her - no pun intended, there, either. It doesn't sound good for her at all. Gage starts looking around, apparently trying to find a way in to her, and I follow his gaze around the rock, the tanker, the ocean, and it's then that I notice it's getting darker. Even during this time of the year, the darkness descends quickly, and it became obvious that we might not get her out before the sun sets.

"We're getting a crane to move this tanker truck," Cap said as he came up behind us, frowning. "But we won't have one available for about a half hour."

"Cap, I don't think she's got a half hour," Gage told him quietly.

He and Cap looked at each other for a moment, communicating by osmosis or something, then Gage turned away, heading towards the squad. Cap pulled the handi-talk out of his pocket, and got on to dispatch, telling them to get a move on with the crane. Then he turned to me.

"Okay, pal, let's see if we can get to the driver some how."

I look at the car, trying to see if the passenger door could be pried open, or if I'll need the jaws. I tentatively stick the crowbar in the joint, and give it a hard tug. I feel it give a little, and try again. It took a couple seconds, but I finally got it open. I climb in and, for the first time, I see her. It looked as bad as she described it. Somehow during the accident, three rods of rebar had come off that little truck, had gone through the windshield of her car, and, finally, through her, pinning her to her seat. The rebar disappeared into the mangled mess that had once been the back seat, and I wondered how far into the wreckage they went.

Man, what a mess. How she was still alive with those injuries was beyond me. She turned her head slowly to look at me, her face an odd combination of pain, fear, and relief. I put on my best smile and said, "Hi, there!"

"Hi," she replied, but didn't smile back.

I started to climb into the car, slowly, carefully as not to upset it, and have it shift. It was pretty well stuck, and I managed to get in with no real trouble. Once I was in the passenger seat, I was able to check her out a little better. I was able to get her pulse on her right wrist, even though a rebar rod was pinning her right shoulder to the car seat. Getting her respirations was a little trickier, with another rebar sticking out of her lower abdomen and the third one sticking out of her chest. I managed it, though, and yelled the numbers out to Gage, who was back with the equipment, and conferring with Roy. I turned back to the victim.

"Sorry 'bout the noise," she said. "I couldn't reach the volume control."

"No problem," I told her. "I took care of it for you. Umm. Is there anyone else in the car with you?"

I hate to ask the question, considering the state of what was once the back seat, but we have to know.

"Just you," she answered and gave me a small smile.

I grin back at her. Good, her sense of humor is intact. That'll help.

"So, what's your name?" I ask.

"Annie. Annie Rose."

"Annie Rose, what?"

"Annie Rose nothing. My last name is Rose."

"Oh, that's cool. It's a pretty name."

"Thanks. So, what's yours?"

"I'm Chester B. Kelly, at your service, Miss Rose!"

I'd have done it with a bit more flourish - taking off my helmet and giving her a swooping bow - but I didn't have enough room in what was left of the little car, so I just tipped my helmet slightly and gave her my famous grin. (Yes, I _do_ have a famous grin, by the way. Gage ain't the only one who can melt the ladies' hearts with a smile!) It worked. Annie Rose smiled back, big and real, this time.

"Hey, do any of you guys have a phone?" she asks, looking suddenly worried.

"Don't worry, the hospital will notify your family once you get there," I assured her.

"No, no! That's not what I mean! I have to call my office, _now_!"

"What?"

"My _office_! I was suppose to file this motion in the next county." She indicated a stack of papers, some of which was on the floor, the rest I was actually sitting on in the passenger seat. "It has to be filed by four forty-five, but I'm not going to make it, obviously! They can still fax file it until five, though! They _have_ to know! We _have_ to file this today! We could be _sanctioned_!"

She was obviously getting agitated. Although it was beyond me that she was worried about her work at this particular moment, the fact remained that if we didn't get her calmed down, her condition could go down hill fast. You don't have to be a paramedic to know that!

"Okay, we'll call 'em for you," I said, and turned to the men standing outside the car behind me. "Anyone got a phone?"

Cap, John, Roy, and Vince looked at me like I'd lost my marbles. I climbed out of the car to talk to them so I wouldn't have to shout. Roy took the opportunity to climb in and assess Annie himself.

"Come on, we gotta make this call for her, she's getting really upset! I'm sure she'll calm down once she's made this call."

"He's right, Cap," Roy sighed returning to our little huddle. "She's pretty agitated right now, and it's not good for her. If we make this one call, she'll calm down, and we'll have a better chance of keeping her stable until we can get her out of here. From the looks of her injuries, though I'm surprised she's lasted this long. The fact that she has tells me that it might not be as bad as we think, and we might have a chance to save her if we can keep her stable and get some fluid and pain killers in her. If we can calm her down just by making this call, I say, let's do it."

"Okay," Cap said. He turned to Vince, who was already handing him a cell phone. "What's the number."

"Here, give it to me," I said, and Cap handed it over to me.

"Okay, I've got a phone, Annie, hang on." I crawled back up into the car, handing the phone to her.

"Thanks," she said, her breathing a little more labored than before. She winces as she reaches across with her left hand, the BP cuff still lightly attached. She hasn't yet moved her right hand, and I'm not sure if that's because it hurts too much, or because she can't. I make a mental note to ask her about it.

"How you doing?" I ask her.

"I'm fine," she smiles, but continues to pant like she's just run a mile. She punches in the numbers, and carefully brings the phone to her ear.

"Hi, Teresa, It's Annie. Could I speak to DeeDee real quick?" She tried to keep her voice upbeat, and I could tell it was difficult for her. She was beginning to pale, and I suspected she was going into shock.

"Hey, Dee, gotta problem . . .yeah, I'm not going to make it to the court house in time to file this motion. No. No . . . yeah, sorry. You can still fax file it, though. Yeah. No, no. It's just a little accident . . . holding me up . . . it's okay, really. Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. I dunno who's fault it is. I don't really remember . . . look, I've got to go, now. Go fax that thing, would ya? Okay, see ya later. Bye."

She hung up quickly, and I reached over to take the phone from her. I could see moisture in her eyes, and she swallowed several times, obviously trying not to cry. I went back out with the phone, and Roy went back in to start the IVs, administer some painkiller, and stabilize the rebar rods with some bandages. When he came back out, he pow-wowed again with Cap and John about getting the tanker lifted the car so they could pull Annie out, and I went back inside to talk to her. For some reason it bothered me for her to be left alone, trapped in her car, while everyone stood around discussing her fate.

"Hey," I said as cheerfully as I could when I was once again sitting beside her. "How ya doing?"

I can see the IV Roy started, and figured she might be feeling better now with some fluids and pain medications flowing in her.

She smiled. "Better now that I know they'll get the motion filed on time. I still feel bad for screwing up like this though. I really let them down."

"Oh, now stop it," I said with mock sternness. "You didn't do anything wrong!"

She turned to look at me, and I thought she might argue with me, but instead she sighed and said, "I guess it doesn't matter now." She looked down, and I followed her gaze to the floor where the papers lay, bright red blood splattered on the crisp white pages. I twisted my head so I could read it. Some law paper. A motion in opposition to a motion to compel something or other. I don't know, nor do I care. She attempts to shift in her seat, but can't due to the three metal rods that have impaled her. Roy had just wrapped white bandages around them, but they were already stained red.

"So, are you a lawyer?" I ask, more to pass the time, and keep her mind off her situation than out of curiosity.

"No, I'm a paralegal. A legal assistant," she explained when she saw my confused look. "I basically help the attorneys out by doing legal research, preparing legal documents, filing them with the court . . . you know, all the boring busywork that they really don't have time for."

"Oh. So you don't go into the courtroom and stand up in front of the judge and stuff?"

"No, I can't represent clients, or give legal advise, because I'm not a lawyer. I just help them out."

"Sort-of like Roy and Johnny, there," I said, jerking my thumb out the door to where the two paramedics were conferring.

"They're paramedics, right?" Annie asks. "Kind-a like doctors, but not really."

"Yeah, I guess so. They give the doctors information on patients, and then do what the doctors tell them. They can't perform surgery, or anything like that, but they can keep people alive until they can get to a hospital for treatment."

Annie nodded, and we fell silent for a moment.

"So, you like being a paralegal?" I ask, now genuinely interested.

Annie smiles. "Yeah, it's great! Nine to five, weekends off, very little stress. Perfect job."

"Sounds pretty good!" I agree. "So, are you gonna go to law school and be a lawyer eventually?"

Annie tries to laugh, but ends up coughing. It obviously pains her, as tears squeeze out of the corner of her eyes. After the spasms pass, she's panting again. I give her hand a little squeeze, and only then realize I'd been holding it.

"You doing okay?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah, I'm fine now. Phew! It hurts to laugh!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't think I said anything funny."

"Oh, you didn't really. It's just that people always assume we paralegals are just biding out time before becoming lawyers, and for most of us, it's just not true. If we wanted to be lawyers, we would, but we don't want to. We don't want the long hours and high stress, but we find the law interesting and like helping people solve their legal problems."

"I guess I can understand that, yeah."

"So, what about you?" Annie asks, changing the subject.

"Oh, not much to tell," I told her honestly. "I'm just a fireman."

"There's nothing 'just' about being a fireman!" Annie exclaimed. "It's a really hard job!"

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess so, but there's a lot of times when we're stuck just doing boring busywork, too!"

"You're being modest. Are you always this modest?" Annie smiled when she said that, her blue eyes sparkling as she teased me. I don't know what to say to her. I didn't think I was being modest.

"Do you love it?" She asked

"Yeah, I do," I said, smiling back at her.

We look at each other without speaking for a long few minutes. It's then I notice she's really pretty: red hair, blue eyes with yellow flecks in them, freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. She's got nice teeth, too. My mom's always telling me its important that a girl has nice, straight teeth. Her eyes are what get me, though. Pretty, sparkling blue eyes.

"We'll be getting you out of here in no time," I told her, breaking the silence. Breaking the trance. I was starting to get lost in those blue eyes. She still smiled at me, her pretty white teeth shining in the fading light.

"Thank you," she says and turns to look back out the front window. The windshield is broken and spider webbed, so the scene beyond it is surreal, but you can still see the sun getting closer and closer to the ocean. The colors are becoming intense: dark indigo, blue, purple, lavender and neon pink, bright yellow, orange and red. It's really getting pretty out there. We sit in companionable silence and watch it.

"Hey, Chet, come out here for a minute," Cap calls, and I jerk as his voice startles me. I'm sure I'm blushing bright red, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming.

"I'll be right back," I promise Annie.

I hop down from the car, and head over to Cap and Johnny; Roy is trudging back to the squad.

"What's up, Cap?"

"We're going to have to cut these rods down," Cap said, indicating the inside of the Honda. "They appear to go through the . . . through the victim, the seat of the car, and through all that twisted mess that was the back seat."

Roy came back carrying the K-12, a safety blanket, and wearing his safety goggles and helmet. He handed the blanket to me.

"Here, Chet, get in, and cover her up with this," Roy instructed. "We'll try not to bump or wiggle the rods too much, but they will vibrate when we use the K-12, so you might have to restrain her some while we cut the rods down just behind the driver's seat. Be careful of her IV," he warned, then nodded, indicating I should go. I headed back inside, dreading what's about to happen.

"Okay, Annie," I said as I reached her. I tried to smile and sound casual, but the situation was becoming more intense, and I just couldn't manage it. "I, ah, don't know how much of that you heard, but we're gonna have to cut these rods back some so when we lift the tank off your car, we can get you out."

I unwrapped the blanket, and began to cover the two of us with it. "This will protect you from sparks or flying debris," I explained. "It's probably gonna hurt some, but they're gonna be as careful as they can."

Her blue eyes were wide with fear, but I didn't want to lie to her. I wanted her to be prepared.

"I'm going to stay here with you, to make sure your IV stays in, and hold on to you if necessary."

I tucked the blanket down behind her head, and pulled it out around us on either side. I had one knee on the seat beside her, and one foot on the floorboards, conscious of the rods sticking out of her body. Not the most comfortable position ever, but necessary to what I wanted to accomplish. I really wanted to hold on to her, but at the same time I didn't want to hurt her. Her breathing was becoming a little more labored now, and she was wheezing a bit. I could tell she was getting more upset.

"It's gonna be okay, Annie," I said. "It's gonna be fine."

It was dark under the blanket, but I swear I could see her looking at me. My face was close to hers, I could feel the heat radiating off it. I could smell the mint of the gum she'd been chewing.

"Are you ready in there, Chet?" Roy asked.

"Are you ready, Annie?" I asked her quietly. "Remember, I'm right here, Annie, if you need to grab my hand or scream or whatever. Don't worry about it. I'm here."

"Okay." Her voice was barely a whisper, but whether it was from fear, uncertainty, or her weakening condition, I'll never know.

"Okay," I called out to Roy, "We're ready."

The K-12 roared to life, and I felt Annie stiffen at the sound, sucking in a breath.

"It's okay, Annie," I tell her.

The whole time Roy was cutting the rebar, I held on to Annie's left shoulder, and onto the seat beside her right one. Her body vibrated slightly, and a whimper escaped her lips. Man, I knew she had to be in agony - painkillers or not - and it was painful for _me_ to sit there and be with her. Soon, it was over, and both Annie and I released the breaths we'd been holding. Annie was panting, now, trying to get more air.

"Hey, Roy," I call out, after I removed the blanket. "Could we get some oxygen in here? Annie's having a little trouble catching her breath!"

Almost before I'd even gotten the words out, Roy was handing a tank in to me. I untangled the tubes, and started to place the mask over her nose and mouth. Her hand stopped me.

"No, please!"

"Now, Annie, you need to get some more oxygen," I told her. "This will help."

"I know, but . . ."

"But, what?"

"Well, it's going to sound silly," Annie said. "But I'm already feeling a little claustrophobic, and being under that blanket didn't help much. I think that thing's just gonna make it worse."

I smile at her. I know how she feels. I hate tight spaces myself, and this one is pretty tight.

"Don't worry, I can put on the nasal cannula - that's the thing that fits in your nose - instead."

I make the switch, and insert the tubes in her nose as gently as possible, and adjust the oxygen level as Roy instructed. After a few moments of listening to her breathe, I ask, "Is that better?"

She turns to look at me, a small smile on her face. "Yeah, it's better. Thanks, Chester. Or, would you prefer I call you Chet? Everyone else seems to."

I think about that for a second, then say, "Nah, you can call me Chester."

It might sound strange, but I liked the way my full name sounded when Annie said it. It didn't sound so lame. It sounded nice. For the first time in my life, I actually _liked_ my name!

She turns back to the sunset, it's colors more fiery than before, the sky and the sea around it darker. I take in the scene through the shattered glass. It reminds me of a kaleidoscope I had as a kid. All the bright colors broken and twisted. Then I turn back to her. I can't help but look at her. The sunset gives her skin a golden glow, and makes the yellow flecks in her blue eyes glow like gold. The red in her hair is like an inferno, like lava flowing over her shoulder. She is so amazingly beautiful at that moment, I can't take my eyes off her.

* * *

"Is that wrong, Father?" I interrupt my narrative to ask the quiet priest. "Was it wrong of me to sit there with a gravely injured woman and think about how beautiful she is?" 

"Were you thinking _lustful_ thoughts about her, my son?"

"No, Father, of course not! I just thought she was beautiful then. It's weird, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't say weird, exactly," Father O'Malley said, speaking slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully. "Unusual, I suppose, but not weird. And, no, I don't think it's wrong, either, my son. It's not wrong to find beauty, to find God's work, even in otherwise ugly situations. I think He puts them there as a way to remind us of His glorious presence, even in the worst of times."

"Oh, okay, Father. Anyway . . ."

* * *

I watched her a while longer, until she turned and looked at me. It startled me, and I admit I was embarrassed to have been caught staring at her. She just smiled, though. I recovered quickly, and started up the conversation again. We spend the next twenty minutes just talking about stuff. She told me about her collection of souvenir spoons she had from her travels around the world, and I told her about my antique barbed wire collection. She didn't laugh, although she did give me a curious look. She asked me if it was difficult to find old barbed wire these days, and I said it was, but that was all part of the challenge; hunting down the really old stuff. I asked her what her favourite country was, and she said England. I told her I'd never been there; she told me I should go; there's probably some really old barbed wire there. 

We talked about cars and camping, books and music. We talked about our favourite TV shows. Turns out we both think _Love, American Style_ is hysterical, and Annie surprised me by saying she really liked _Kolchak the Night Stalker_. I would've never guessed a smart, pretty girl like that would be into creepy shows, but she was. I hesitated only a moment before asking if she'd ever seen a horror movie called _Terror at the Library_, my personal favourite, and much to my amazement and delight, she not only had seen it, but thought it was fantastic!

Annie was everything I'd ever looked for in a girl. Everything! Smart, pretty, funny, adventurous, and had good taste in quality television viewing. I could almost hear myself making the fateful phone call to my mother, _"Hey, mom, you'll never guess! I just met the woman I'm going to marry!"_

We went on to talk about our families and friends, and I told her about the guys I work with: my good friend and fellow hose-hauler, Marco Lopez, our fearless leader, Captain Stanley, the ever-patient Roy DeSoto (whom she'd already met), and the station's nut case, John Gage. She laughed when I told about soaking Gage with the water bombs, then in mock sternness told me that wasn't very nice, and that I should watch my back. One day Gage might get me back. Then I laughed, because I knew he never would.

Finally, I checked my watch, and decided to go out and get an update on the situation.

"I'm gonna go see what the hold up is."

"Okay, thanks."

I got out of the car, and wandered around to the other side of tank where Roy and Cap were talking.

"The best thing to do is to leave her as is," Roy was saying to Cap, who nodded his agreement. "We've stabilized those rods as best we can, and when it's time, we'll bind her to the seat, and just take her and it out all at once." He turns to me as I approach them. "Chet, you think you can get those seats out?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure they're just bolted on somehow. To runners, I think. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Of course we can't really do much of anything until we get this tanker off the car . . ." Roy continued.

"We're still working on that, Roy," Cap said, his voice sounded annoyed, and he didn't meet our gazes. "Unfortunately, there's been a delay. Apparently the one crane they'd sent broke down, so they have to send another one. Said it might be another half hour . . ."

"What?" I shout, appalled. "Why? Another half hour! That's in_sane_! Annie needs to be out of there _now_!"

"I know that, pal, but there's not much we can do about it.

I knew he was right, that there was nothing we could do without a crane, but I was frustrated just the same. Frustrated that Annie was going to be trapped in that car for another half hour, bleeding, suffering, dying. Frustrated that we were all just standing around waiting. Waiting for her to die. I gave them all a good, hard glare, and turned away from them.

"Chet, where're you going?" Cap asked, sounding a bit pissed.

"Back to Annie! At least she won't have to sit there by herself!"

"Hey, Chet, get me some new vitals while you're in there, would ya?" Roy asks and hands me his stethoscope. I don't even think about what it means for him to give that responsibility to me. I may have some basic EMT training, and I've watched Roy and Johnny do their thing a hundred times to the point where I _could_ do it myself, but I'm no 'medic. I know it. Roy knows it. His action speaks volumes, and I don't want to think about it.

"Sure, thing, Roy."

I tried to calm myself down as I returned to Annie's car. I wouldn't do her much good if I was upset. Man, it was hard, though, because I _was_ upset. _Real_ly upset. I paced back and forth behind the tanker for a few moments, just breathing and calming myself down. When I was ready, I went back inside.

Annie was still watching the sunset. She turned to look at me briefly when I crawled up beside her, gave me a welcoming smile, and returned her gaze to the horizon.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" She asked.

"Yeah," I answer.

"I used to have a view like this all the time," she said, dreamily. "It was nice."

"That would be nice, " I agreed. "You lived at the beach?"

"Yeah, in a beach house. Up in Oregon," she replied with a smile.

"Cool!" Lame answer, I know, but I didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah, it was," she said, her smile fading a little.

"I, ah, take it you don't live there anymore." I hated to bring up some bad memory, but maybe if I could keep her talking, I could change the subject to something better. Happier.

"No," she answered, "My . . . I . . . I was living there with my fiancé, in the downstairs apartment. He . . . left, then my landlord died, and his kids wanted to sell the house. I only had a retail job at the time, and I couldn't afford to make an offer on it, so I had to move. I couldn't afford to rent anything up there, so I came down here to live with family."

"I'm sorry." Again, I didn't know what else to say. Why is it whenever I'm around a girl, I can never think of anything clever or interesting to say?

She turned to smile at me. "It's okay," she said. "It was a long time ago. I just . . . well, I still miss this sometimes."

"I can understand that."

We sat silently for a few more minutes. The sun dropping lower and lower towards the water.

"Hey, Chet! You got those vitals for me?"

Roy's voice made me jump. Damn. I'd completely forgotten about the vitals.

"Uh, yeah, hang on a sec."

I took her wrist to get the pulse, and Annie turned to look at me, giving me an amused grin. I chuckled a bit, embarrassed to have been caught slacking. Her pulse was a little slower as were her respirations. I figured it was because she was so relaxed, watching the sunset, plus all the medications and all, but since I'm not a 'medic, I couldn't be sure. I pumped up the BP cuff with one hand, and maneuvered the earpieces of the stethoscope with the other. Placing the scope in the crux of her arm, I slowly released the air from the cuff as I'd seen Johnny and Roy do a hundred times. The numbers I read weren't too good: It was lower that it had been before. I did it again to be sure. The results were the same. All the while I tried to keep my expression neutral, but Annie's perceptive gaze was on me the whole time, and I'm sure she noticed when I frowned at the first set of numbers. I didn't meet her gaze, but hollered out the numbers to Roy. I don't know if she understood what they meant, but I didn't feel like crawling out to talk to Roy, and crawling back in again. I took the stethoscope out of my ears, and looked at her. Her eyes, darker now from the retreating daylight, bore into me.

"That didn't sound too good," she said, trying to sound casual.

I didn't want to lie to her, but I didn't want to upset her, either.

"Well, the pressure's a bit lower than it was, but it's nothing to worry about."

I tried to smile reassuringly at her, but I faltered. To my amazement, she smiled at me.

"It's okay, Chester," she said. "I understand."

"It shouldn't be much longer, Annie," I promised, then winced when I realized what I'd said. "What I meant was, the crane's almost here," I said, trying to recover from my Freudian slip. "They're going to use a crane to get this tanker truck off your car, so they can get you out of here. They don't want to remove the rods because it could cause more damage, and they can't get you out until . . ." I realized I was babbling, but couldn't shut up.

She reached out her hand and touched my face, her thumb brushing over my moustache, and I stopped speaking. I looked into her blue eyes, and saw a hundred different emotions in them. The eyes are the windows to the soul. Isn't that what they say? There was pain, fear, uncertainty, curiosity, pleasure, understanding, acknowledgment, and acceptance. I move my gaze down to her lips. The right side of the lower one is bruised and slightly swollen. I figure she must've bitten down on it when they were sawing the rebar. It's not bleeding, but it still looks sore. I reach up and touch it lightly with my finger. She doesn't flinch or speak. I look into her eyes again.

* * *

"Father, I know it's wrong," I say abruptly to the priest. "I _know_ it, but right at that moment, all I wanted to do was kiss her. I wanted to kiss that swollen lower lip. And, you know what? I think she wanted me to. It wasn't a lustful thought, Father, really it wasn't. It's just . . . it's just . . . I don't know. I can't ex_plain_ it. It just _was_." 

Father O'Malley makes a noise like a 'hmmph,' but I'm not sure. I'm not sure if he's judging me, or just acknowledging my statement. When he says nothing else, I decide to continue.

* * *

Soon, I hear more activity outside the car, but it sounds a million miles away. Cap's voice penetrates my hazy brain. "Hey, Kelly!" 

I hesitate a moment, looking at Annie. I have a feeling the crane is here, and they're ready to move the tanker truck. She's breathing slower, but her eyes are still bright and alert. Still, I can tell she's fading.

"Yeah?" I answer, but my eyes don't leave hers. I think she knows it's almost over. One way or another.

"We're ready to lift this tanker truck off," Cap said. "You two okay in there?"

"Yeah, for now," I told him. "Hurry!"

I didn't want to say _why_ they needed to hurry. I didn't want Annie to hear me tell them _'she's dying in here,'_ even though I think she knew it. She probably knew it from the moment of impact that she wouldn't survive. How she'd lived this long was beyond me. She probably knew she was dying, but I didn't want her to hear it from me. Cap said something I didn't catch, then I heard the crane start up. I turned back to Annie, to see her staring intently out the broken window at the fading sunset. I take her right hand in mine, careful of her IV line, and watch it with her. The sun was completely gone, now, sunk down into the ocean, leaving just a thin line of bright orange and red. The sea was black, except for the silvery, sparkly tips of the waves that caught the last bit of the fading light. The sky was black as well, but a few tiny specks of light twinkled in the deepest, darkest parts.

They must've gotten the tanker truck moved, because Cap's voice startled me again: "Chet?"

Funny, I didn't feel the car shift when they lifted the truck. I didn't even notice it had happened. No matter. I turn to look at Annie before responding to Cap. She's still staring at the dark sea and sky. Her eyes are open but unseeing. She's not breathing. _Crap! When did she stop breathing?_

"Cap! She's not breathing!"

I move my hand down to touch her wrist, searching for her pulse.

_It's gone. I've lost it. Where'd it go? Dammit!_

"I can't get a pulse!"

"Come on outta here, pal," Cap says and walks away.

I take one last look at Annie, knowing, but not yet accepting, and shimmy my way out of the car. Both Roy and John are standing there, but neither of them seems to be in any hurry to get into the car. In fact, John's putting equipment _away_, and making to leave.

"Whaddya waitin' for?" I ask them. "Get in there and help her!"

Roy and John look at each other, then John turns away carrying both the drug box, and trauma box, and Roy sighs.

"Chet . . ." he starts to speak, but I stop him.

"Don't 'Chet' me, Roy!" I say. "She's stopped breathing and doesn't have a pulse! You need to get in there and _do_ something!"

I rip the stethoscope off my neck and fling it at him. He catches it effortlessly with one hand

"Chet," Roy says, more firmly this time. He comes right up to me, looks me right in the eye. "We can't help her now."

"Whaddya mean, you can't help her? You're paramedics, aren't you? What the fxxx good are you if you can't _help_ her?"

* * *

"Oh, pardon the bad word there, Father! I kind-a lost my head!" Man! I can't believe I just used _that word_ in church! In the confessional! In front of the _priest_! What was I thinking? 

"That's okay, son," the priest says, chuckling slightly. "I understand you're upset. Then _and_ now. But you should be careful to think before you speak in the future."

"Yes, Father," I promise, and I get back to my story.

* * *

I turn to head back into the car, then, and to Annie, but Roy stops me. He grabs my arm and turns me to face him. 

"Chet," he says, "listen to me. She was too badly injured. Even if we'd gotten her out sooner, I don't think she would've made it! She was bleeding too badly, too fast. She lost too much blood already . . ."

"Don't you think I know that, Roy?" I yell at him. "I've been sitting in there with her for _hours_, man! _Hours!_ I've been kneeling in it! I'm _covered_ with it!"

I stand back and show him what I mean. I could feel it when I was in the car, but tried not to think about it then. Tried not to think of what it meant. Now, illuminated by the spotlights that had been brought in to help light the scene, I could see, and Roy could see, and Cap, and Marco, and Johnny, and everyone could see my pants and turnout jacket covered in blood. Annie's blood. Blood that had been flowing slowly but steadily from her body over the past couple of hours, and pooled up on the seat where I was sitting or kneeling or crawling around.

* * *

"I could feel it as it flowed onto my pants, and soaked in, touching my skin. It was warm and sticky. But, I never said anything. I could feel it, Father, I could feel it." 

I don't want to, but I can't help but cry now. Father O'Malley doesn't speak for a long time, and the stupid part of my brain wonders if the old man fell asleep. I know better though, and soon, the robes rustle again, and I hear him take in a breath.

"My son," he says. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Whaddya mean, Father?" I ask, sniffing and wiping the tears and snot off my face. "I never really knew Annie. She was nothing to me. She was just another victim. It's not like she was my sister, or something."

"No, she was not just another victim to you, Chester," the priest said, gently. "She was more than that to you. And you were more than just a fireman to her. And, no, my son, it wasn't wrong. It was right. Whatever you did in that car was the right thing to do. You stayed with her, Chester. You gave her comfort, companionship. Whatever it was you two shared, there, in her last moments, she knew she was not alone; she knew that someone cared about her. She knew she would not die alone."

I wipe more tears from my face as I think about Father O'Malley's words. I know he's right. I _know_ it. But, right now, it's still too hard to accept. It's funny. Not funny, ha ha; funny, strange. I only knew Annie for a couple of hours, but somehow, I feel like she was always in my life. I miss her now, and the world feels emptier without her in it. Last week, I didn't even know she existed. Today, I'm mourning her absence. Life is funny, I guess. Not funny, ha ha, but funny, strange.

* * *

I knew Roy was right. I knew he and John had done everything they could for Annie in that car, and there just wasn't any more to do. She needed more than they could give her. They couldn't bring the hospital to Annie, and they couldn't get Annie to the hospital. It just sucked is all. It just sucked. Roy lets go of me, and heads in to see Annie, probably to confirm my findings, and retrieve his equipment. As he walks away, I see blood on his pants, too. 

The atmosphere changes from that of controlled chaos, to a more laid-back attitude, as we shifted from a rescue operation to a recovery. Cap grabs my shoulder and starts leading me back to the engine. He sits me down on the bumper. We're away from the action here. Away from people; from their prying eyes. I know why he's brought me here. He stands there for a moment looking down at me, but I don't look up at him.

"You okay, pal?" He asks.

I nod my head. He nods his head in return, and says, "Just sit here for a bit, while we finish up over there, okay?"

Again I just nod. I feel numb. I don't know why. I've seen death before. Hundreds of times. I've watched people die before, in ways more horrible that the way Annie died, but somehow, this just . . . I don't know. It just . . . _hurt_ more. I can't explain it, I really can't. I've tried. I don't know. I don't think I actually had feelings for her, though maybe a little bit I did. How is that possible, though? I didn't really know her. She was a _victim_, for Chrissakes! How could I have feelings for a victim like that? It's wrong. I'm certain it's wrong. But, it doesn't make me hurt any less.

Off in the distance, I can hear a song playing. Someone's got a radio going. It's not the same song that was playing in Annie's car when we arrived. It's a different song. A pretty song. A sad song.

_Now that she's back in the atmosphere, with drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey . . ._

I could feel the tears coming, and didn't try to stop them. I was too tired. I let them come.

_Tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day, and head back towards the Milky Way?_

To hell with being strong and tough. To hell with being a he-man; some unemotional super freak. I just watched a beautiful, nice, funny, clever, wonderful woman die, and it broke my heart. So, I admit it: I cried.

* * *

When I finished telling my story, I felt better. I felt good to tell someone about Annie. About what really happened, and how I felt about it. I needed to do that. I know the guys know it was hard on me; I know Cap knows, but they don't know _every_thing. 

I waited a few moments for Father O'Malley to say something.

"Is your burden lifted, now, my son?" He asks.

I sigh, and even smile a little. "Yes, Father, I believe it is, some."

Despite the highly emotional and heavy thing I've just told him, the old priest hasn't forgotten my litany of sins earlier, and gives me a bunch of Hail, Mary's to perform, which I do.

_"Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen." _

When I'm finished, he gives me absolution, tells me I should come by more often, and sends me on my way. I leave the tiny confessional, having to stretch some from being hunkered down in such a small space for so long. I walk stiffly between the pews to the main aisle, kneel gingerly and cross myself, and rise again, walking out of the church.

The sun is shining today, and the sky is blue. It's gorgeous. It is a relief for me to tell about my feelings for Annie, and have them not seen as weird by my priest, and therefore by God. The sun on my face is warm and feels good. To be told that what I did was not weird, but was right and good. It feels good, too. Knowing that staying with Annie and talking to her made her last hours on this planet tolerable, perhaps even pleasant, makes me feel really, really good. It still sounds kind-a weird to my ears, but it no longer sounds weird to my heart.

I hop in my car and start driving. I don't really have a direction or destination; I'm just driving. I've got the window rolled down, and have my arm resting on the window frame, the sun warm on my bare skin. The cool breeze musses up my hair. It's getting a bit shaggy, and I'm certain Cap will be griping at me to get it cut some time soon. For now, I'm just gonna let it all hang out. I've got the radio tuned to a pretty good FM station, but I'm not really even listening to the songs. Just driving, driving, driving.

Before I even realize where I'm going, I'm there.

Little evidence of the accident remains. The skid marks are still visible on the road, and there's some broken glass and pieces of tail light covers in the dirt and gravel beside the road, and the large rock still bares the scars from where the tanker truck and Annie's car hit it, but everything else is gone. If you didn't know there'd been a big accident here, if you didn't know what to look for, you'd probably never see it. The sedans, the pick-up truck, the tanker truck, and Annie's little red car are all gone. The blood is gone. The rebar has been removed. Whatever what leaking from the tanker truck has been safely washed away, and the ground is almost dry now.

I look out over the ocean as the sun begins to sink down. For the first time since the accident, my mind is clear, and I listen to the radio, watch the sunset, and think about nothing at all.

After the sun finally sank into the Pacific, the sky went dark lavender pink at the horizon line, gradually changing to a light orange, then peach, then yellow, then up into the white blue, light blue, on into a darker blue way, way up. A few wispy clouds hung there glowing orange in the swiftly fading light. The sea was lavender blue, the waves, large and small, were indigo lines dancing across the surface. It was pretty, but dull and bland compared to the blazing inferno I'd shared with Annie.

Somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that the sunsets would just not be as spectacular now that Annie wasn't there. I know that's ridiculous, but I guess I was still feeling a bit down, despite my talk with Father O'Malley.

When I looked up again, it was beautiful. The sea was a silver indigo now, with a smudged dark blue line on the horizon. The muddy orange now melted into a dirty, yellowed peach then up into various shades of blues and into the black of the night sky. Little pinpoints of light flickered there. Stars. Planets. Heavenly bodies.

That's what my grandma Kelly called them. She told me that the sky was heaven, and the stars were the souls of people who had died, looking down on us. She used to point to one - the same one every time, I swear - and tell me that was her "Beloved Sean;" my grandfather. I believed it as a kid, but grew out of it eventually. Still, sometimes I find myself looking up at the stars, and wonder,_ What if_?

Now, I look up at the stars, and I wonder if one of them is Annie, a bright, sparkling light in the darkness. I wonder if she's looking down at me looking up at her. I wonder if she'd seen this sunset, too. I wonder if she knew how much she meant to me. How much that time we spent together changed me. I wonder if she knows I'm a better person for having known her, even for a couple hours. I sincerely hope she does.

A particularly bright, sparkling star catches my eye, and I can't help but smile.

"Goodbye, Annie. I'll never forget you."

The End

© 2002 lmj (alias hez)


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